Do It Again
by melissaeverdeen13
Summary: During April's pregnancy in Season 12 - she misses being physical with Jackson a bit too much to ignore.


I didn't think this feeling would return with the second pregnancy.

I don't know why, seeing as it would only make sense, but it just didn't cross my mind. That is, until I entered the third trimester and need for sex became stronger than the need for anything else.

This morning is no different. I'm in my sports bra and leggings, having just finished a round of sweaty prenatal yoga, and the first thought that crosses my mind when I walk in the door is that I wish Jackson were here.

It's partly because I miss his company, yes. I miss the presence of another human in the house with me, sharing the space and having conversation. I miss the random facts he'd tell me at any given time, and how they'd always make me laugh. The last one I remember was during a Seahawks game. He'd told me that when hippos are upset, their sweat turns red. I don't know why that one stuck, but it did.

But along with everything else, I miss him because of what he could give me. If I walked in that door like I just did - sweaty and wearing skin-tight clothes - while he was here, I wouldn't have made it five feet without being jumped. And that's exactly what I want at the moment, though there's no way I can get it. Not exactly, anyway.

I'm alone, but I can use that to my advantage. I have an hour before I have to be at the hospital, and that's more than enough time to get ready and do what I need to do. I fast-walk to the bathroom, feeling an urgent need, and strip down. I throw all my sweaty clothes into the hamper and turn the shower on cool - I can't bear hot ones anymore - and step inside after a few seconds.

The water feels good, but that's not my main concern. Before I even think about washing anything, I lean against the cold tile and tuck my hand between my legs. I know exactly how to get myself to an orgasm, and I don't drag it out. This is an innate need, not for pleasure really. If I don't touch myself now, I'll be tortured at work all day. Though it might still end up being bad. The desire tends to come back not long after I've quenched it.

I work my fingers in tight circles and bite my bottom lip, eyes pinched shut. My hand knows the motion well and it moves fast and hard, which is just what I need. I'm not looking for sweet and gentle - I'm looking for a knee-shaking, pulsating, nearly-violent orgasm.

I do make it to climax, but it's not like I hoped. It happens, but slow and gradual. It does the job for the moment, but doesn't leave me satisfied and spent. Instead, it makes me hungry for more. But I don't have time now. I have to shower, get dressed, and get on the road. I have a full day ahead.

…

At work, I'm distracted at best. I can't focus on the tiniest tasks or give my patients 100% percent of my attention, which makes me feel inadequate and like I'm not good at my job. I know I am, but I've been self-conscious lately. Being pregnant alone is more depressing than I thought it would be.

During the first round, with Samuel, Jackson was by my side every step of the way. He was by my side, behind me, on top of me, inside me, you name it - he was there. I miss that. I miss going home and being physical with someone, then talking after. I miss talking about the baby with its daddy.

I don't feel like he wants to be close with me during this pregnancy. He didn't want to be close before it, that's for sure, so I don't want the baby to be the only thing forcing us together. He shouldn't have to be around me if he doesn't want to, but I want him so badly. I wish he felt the same.

Maybe it's the hormones talking, but every time I see him in passing, I practically fall over. Even the smallest interactions send me reeling for the rest of the day.

"Hey," I say, getting Jackson's attention as he walks by. He changes direction and comes towards me where I stand on the stairs, an open expression on his face.

"Hey," he greets me, wearing a smile.

"The baby's been kicking like crazy," I say. "They've gotten stronger."

"Oh, yeah?" he says, then lifts one hand. For a moment, it looks like he's going to touch my belly and I hope he does, but he shies away before getting too close.

My heart plummets to my feet. I feel disappointed, though I probably shouldn't. But he doesn't have to feel uncomfortable with touching me, though it's clear he does. I'm carrying our child; he should be able to touch my stomach and feel them kicking and spinning like crazy. That's something he has a right to do. I want him to be just as much a part of this process as me.

With Samuel, things were so different. He was obsessed with my belly and always let me know how beautiful I was, how treasured and amazing. He treated me like a goddess while I was pregnant with our first, and I miss it. I miss how he'd say good morning to the baby before he'd say it to me, and shower my skin in kisses. Sometimes, he'd read with his head on my lap just to be closer to our son.

Thinking about it so hard, I might cry. My emotions can change at the tip of a hat lately, so I need to shove those thoughts out before I get carried away.

"Yeah," I say. "Sometimes, they wake me up at night."

"You go in the kitchen and get your pickles?" he says, chuckling.

I smirk. He always used to joke about how I smelled like dill coming back to bed after a late-night craving. I could never hide it, but I secretly loved it when he teased me.

"It's kiwi this time," I say. "I have hundreds of them at home, it feels like."

Home. At home. It makes it sound like it's a place we share, though that is not the case anymore.

"Still green," he says.

"Yeah," I say. "But I think it's a girl this time."

He looks at the round of my stomach for a long moment, eyes trailing over the exaggerated slope with a soft smile on his face. I wonder what he's thinking. I wish he'd just tell me, but with him it's never that easy.

When he clasps his hands together, though, it's clear that he's holding himself back when he doesn't need to be. Maybe it's the openness of our interaction that's scaring him. We should go somewhere private. We haven't had a quiet conversation just the two of us in weeks.

"Will you…" I begin, then clear my throat. "Can I talk to you in private for a second?"

He looks concerned. "Uh, sure," he says. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything's fine," I answer, descending the steps and walking alongside him to an on-call room. "I just… I just wanna talk to you."

When the door closes, a hush falls over the room. I lock it subtly behind us and walk further inside, sitting on the bed to look at him where he stands.

"You can…" I trail off. "Will you sit?"

He sits next to me, a good distance away. I can smell his faint cologne and it makes me miss him more than ever. I wonder if he misses me, too, but I have no idea how to ask.

"You know, you can touch it," I say, looking at him first and then my very pregnant belly. "This is your baby, too."

"Oh," he says. "I… I would never want to overstep."

"It's not overstepping if I offer," I say, pointedly. "I want you to know the baby before they're born. I want them to know you and your voice."

"That's a thing, huh?" he says.

"It's a thing," I answer. "Definitely."

"So, I can touch your belly?" he asks, sounding hopeful. I hold onto that hope and lock it away for a different day when I'll need it. "The baby… I can touch the baby?"

"Yes," I say, then make a bold move and lift my scrub top to rest below my breasts. It bunches on the beginning curve of my stomach and leaves the skin bare - and Jackson gets to see it in all its glory for the first time during our second pregnancy.

He just stares for a moment, and I let him. It must be strange, being so involved the first time and knowing all of mine and the baby's little quirks, and being left completely in the dark the second time around. I don't get a good feeling when I think about it too hard. It feels cruel to all three of us.

"Your skin's so pretty," he says, almost shyly. It's not often I hear his voice sound like that, and it melts my heart. So quiet, so reserved, like he's not brave enough to say it at full volume.

"Pregnancy glow," I say, then skim a hand down the middle of my bump. "Here, feel. Baby's spinning."

I reach for Jackson's hand and press it against my belly, and when his skin touches mine, it lights up every nerve ending that's ever existed inside me. It takes all I have not to close my eyes and gasp, it feels that good. His large hand maps over almost the entire expanse of my stomach, and he smiles when he feels the movement from inside.

"I feel it," he says, amazed. "They're so active. It's… it's like that all the time?"

"A lot," I say. "I think they like your voice, too."

He smiles and bends at the waist to be face-level with my stomach. "Hey, little gymnast," he says. "It's your dad. What are you up to in there?"

I adjust my hips a bit to sit more comfortably, and Jackson strokes my skin with his thumb. It's an action probably meant for the baby, but it's in an intimate spot all the same. I can't help but feel like it's for me.

"Tell them something," I say, watching him. He doesn't even know it, but he's already an amazing father. The look of love in his eyes is unmatched. This child is so lucky to have him. "A fact, or something."

"Hmm…" he hums, squinting his eyes as he thinks. "Oh, I read something cute today. When otters sleep, they hold hands so they don't float away from each other."

I chuckle softly and say, "That is cute."

He looks up at me, past the bump. "So, you think it's a girl?"

I nod. His hand is still right there, still caressing me.

"She'll be so cute," he says. "I can't wait to meet her."

"She can't wait to meet you, either," I say.

Then, very quickly and without thinking, he inches forward and kisses my stomach. It's meant for the baby, just like the thumb stroke, but this is different. He realizes it right after he does it - it had been so routine, nearly expected, with the last pregnancy, that it's easy to see how he would fall back into that way of thinking.

I ache because of it; I physically ache. When he pulls away, his face is shocked and embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," he says, sitting up straight again. "I was just… I was thinking about the baby, and I forgot… it just… I don't know. I'm sorry."

"It was fine," I say.

"I shouldn't have," he says. "We're… not… I'm sorry."

"No," I say, leaving my shirt just as it is. "I… I liked it."

"You…" he says, and his hands are still on my stomach. His sentence falls off as his eyebrows come together; it's clear he doesn't know what to say. I don't, either.

"I've missed you," I say, trying my best to be truthful.

I'm not sure if words can encompass just how many ways I miss him - I'm not sure I want them to. I don't know if he's ready to hear that, or how he would handle it. I don't know how I would feel saying it aloud, either. I have a feeling it would come with some bruising to my pride.

"I miss you," I say again.

"I miss you, too," he admits, very quietly. He's still touching me, and I relish it. I'm not sure when I'll get it back, if ever.

"Can you…" I say, then lean back on my elbows. "Can you kiss… kiss me again?"

He smiles, just slightly. It reaches his eyes first, like it always used to. Like I assume it still does, I just haven't been around him to see it.

"I just… I think she liked it," I say, trying to fill the cautious silence.

"Okay," he says, then cups my belly and gives it another sweet kiss. The baby spins as always, not prompted or deterred by its daddy's lips against my skin. The one excited between the two of us is me.

When he pulls away, he nuzzles my bellybutton with his nose, shaking his head back and forth with his eyes closed. He always used to do that to me, on any part of my body. We loved giving each other eskimo kisses. It was our thing.

"Can I have another one?" I ask, voice soft and unassuming.

He nods almost imperceptibly, then kisses my stomach again. His hands have grown completely comfortable over my belly, tracing feather-light shapes on my skin with his mouth near my bellybutton. With his face in such close proximity to a very different part of me, I can't help it when I feel it light up.

"I meant me," I say, taking a risk and reaching to run a hand through his hair. It's long, and for the first time, I like it this way. I used to prefer it short, just like he did. But not now. The curls have character. "I want… I want you to kiss me."

His eyes flash. He knows what I'm asking now.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks, planting his hands on the cot on either side of my bare belly.

I nod, and sit up straighter, which forces him to as well. Now, our faces are only inches apart and we're breathing each other's air, pupils fat with arousal.

"You're horny, aren't you?" he asks, amused. He skims one hand over my belly and rests it below the curve, near the space between my legs. I want, more than anything, for him to tuck his hand inside my thighs and work his fingers like mad, but I have no idea how to ask.

But I can agree. I figured he'd see through that much.

"Just like before…" he says, but doesn't finish. "I remember."

"You know how I get when I'm pregnant," I say, breathily. "My hand is gonna break if I masturbate any more, and I don't want anyone else to give it to me but you."

"Jesus, April," he says, thoroughly surprised.

"It's just not the same," I say, referencing my self-given orgasms. I look him dead in the eyes and say, "Please." It comes out more desperately than I'd planned.

"Seriously?" he says.

"Yes, Jackson, please," I say, grappling for the lapel of his lab coat.

His eyes dart to my lips for a half a second before coming back up. Then, with my shirt still pushed up under my bra, he leans forward and cups my jaw in his hands and presses his lips to mine in a hot, feverish kiss. There's nothing soft or curious about his lips now, like they'd been before on my stomach. Now, he knows exactly what he wants and I want the same thing.

His facial hair scratches my cheeks - I've grown unused to it because of our time spent apart, but the feeling is welcome. It's rough and grating, but the spark of pain sends shivers down my spine and settles in my core, right where I need it most.

"Mm, yes," I moan, lips moving against his. I throw my head back and he opens his mouth on my neck - wide and hungry. He drags his tongue along my throat and breathes hotly over my collarbones, moving to the slope of my shoulder where he sinks his teeth in and makes me whimper with desire.

I pull away for just a moment to yank my shirt over my head, leaving me topless. My breasts spill over the cut of my bra and Jackson dives for my chest, pressing them together on the sides and opening his mouth on each slope. I support myself with my hands behind me while he showers me with affection, massaging the sensitive skin while dragging his teeth over my nipples beneath the fabric.

"They're so fucking big," he says, closing his eyes to take a big breath. "I love it."

I moan again, hearing him talk like that. I curl my arms around my back and undo the clasp, then toss my bra carelessly across the room, not caring where it lands. As soon as they're bare, Jackson opens his mouth on my nipples - first the left, then the right - giving them both equal amounts of attention.

They harden instantly, needing only the smallest bit of prompting to do what they're meant to. They've been so sensitive lately; all I could think about was how it would feel for Jackson to suck on them. And now, I know. It feels amazing.

He hovers over me without putting any weight on my belly and sucks on my breasts until they hurt. I feel the tension building between my legs while he uses one hand to pinch my left nipple and his teeth to gently graze the right, so much so that my hips gyrate on their own - grinding the air only.

"Fuck," I hiss, digging my fingernails into his scalp while he continues.

He switches from breast to breast, eyes still closed, completely immersed in what he's doing, until - it happens. He makes me come with nipple play alone, and I explode with a loud, harsh scream and a few heavy breaths.

"Shit," I murmur, stroking his head now instead of scratching it. My nipples are pulsating, almost hardened to the point of numbness. He lifts his head and looks proud in a sort of heady way, and when he sits up all the way, his blatant erection is hard to miss.

I stand up and strip down, listening to him do the same. I plant my hands on the wall and lean forward slightly, positioning myself in the only comfortable and convenient way this can happen. We tried out plenty of other positions while I was pregnant with Samuel, but there's no time for any of that now. This has to be quick and dirty.

He grabs my hips and pulls them close to his own, and I feel him press and slide between my ass cheeks. I bite the inside of my cheek and push myself further against him, and he slips inside me before I have to wait any longer.

My mouth hangs open because of the feeling - I'd almost forgotten how amazing it is to be filled like this. He stretches me to my limits and teases me to the edge, and I don't know how long I'll end up lasting because of how good it feels.

"Oh, god, yeah," I whine, feeling his chest press against my back.

He shoves his hips forward against mine at a calculated, powerful rhythm, and the thicker spots on my body respond in tandem as the skin bounces back. He grabs at the extra fat on my ass and squeezes tight, fingertips digging in, and grunts in my ear, which is proof that I'm unwinding him as much as he is me.

From my ass, he skims up to take two firm handfuls of my breasts. He drags his thumbs over the nipples while he pounds into me, and my eyes roll back when he bites my shoulder, digging his teeth in harder than I remember.

"Oh, god, fuck!" I cry, voice pitchy and strained. "Jackson, fuck!"

"I know," he groans, pressing his lips together and grunting for the last few final thrusts. "You feel goddamn amazing. Jesus Christ."

I'm about to have it - that knee-shaking, pulsating, nearly-violent orgasm. I feel it building in my lower belly, coiling and tightening, swirling in the pit of my stomach as he hits my g-spot at just the right angle. If I could get any words out, I'm sure the filthiest things would spill from my mouth, but I can't seem to catch my breath for long enough periods of time for that to happen.

I reach around and grab his wrist, then tug his hand between my thighs. He gets the picture instantly and straightens his fingers, using them all to rub tight, maddening circles on my clit that make my whole body start to shake.

"F-fuck!" I scream - full-out scream. I throw my head back and pinch my eyes shut tight, and he continues to work me with both his hand and penis. "Fuck!"

"Yeah, baby?" he says, encouraging me with his lips on my neck. "Yeah?"

"Ooh, just like that!" I whine, going limp as the waves ebb and flow throughout my body. "Jesus… oh… oh… oh, my god."

He makes a few animalistic sounds as he empties inside me - fast and hot. I feel the strength of his orgasm through his hips and pelvis, and he presses his forehead between my shoulder blades while it happens, hands tight on my breasts.

He pulls out shortly after and I feel him drip down my thighs, but I can't bear to move yet. Instead, I stay there with my palms against the wall, chest heaving as I try my best to catch my breath. It doesn't prove to be as easy as it normally would be without a giant baby resting on my lungs, but it comes back soon enough.

I look over my shoulder at Jackson, who's already watching me. He lays a hand on my back and smiles, and I give him one in return. His chest is glistening with sweat, and I badly want to get my mouth on it. And other areas of his body, too.

So, I turn around and lean against the wall, completely bare and exposed before him. I take one step forward, wrap my fingers around his wrist, and pull his hand back to where I want it.

With the smile on my lips reflected in his eyes, I say, "Do it again."


End file.
